Dancer in the Dark
by VulpineSnow
Summary: Slayer of The World-Eater, Master of the Riften Thieves Guild, and Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. The Dragonborn was all these things and more, her avarice and bloodlust tempered and driving her forward in the wilds of Skyrim. It all seemed to fall into place so easily, and her life was pleasant, for all the bloodshed... Then Maven Black-Briar came to ruin it...


The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Dancer in the Dark

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Disclaimer: I hold no ownership of the Elder Scrolls game series.

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An iron-tipped arrow sailed through the air upon a purposeful release, whistling through the frigid winds of northern Skyrim from a beautiful bow of black metal. The projectile struck the scaled receiver on the nose, burying half-way into thick flesh with a brilliant spray of lifeblood, painting the snow scarlet.

The great dragon, scales of whitest snow, roared in pain towards the sky, sending out a harsh blast of freezing air from its maw. Not a "Shout", a Thu'um, but cry of agony. The arrow had not only been a stab of pain, but the bow it was fired from had been enchanted, hence why it was less of an annoyance for the winged beast and more of a true source of pain. From the stinging sensation the dragon was feeling, it would have to guess the enchantment involved lightning, that damn, accursed magic of Man and Mer that drained the strength of Voice and opposing magicka.

A dark-clad, hooded assailant was upon the dragon, closing the gap in a blur with thunderous Thu'um, throaty and hoarse, with hissing bile accenting each Word.

"_**WULD NAH KEST!**_"

Wind. Fury. Tempest.

The dragon felt even worse pain, literally burning agony, pierce the soft flesh behind its chin and swiftly make way into its tongue… right before spreading outward through its entire body, scales, flesh, muscle, bone and all. Everything was on fire, quite literally. Its eyes were so vulnerable, consumed in the heat, blinding it as the horrid metal tool of death was withdrawn from its throat. In rage, the dragon of frost tried to unleash its Thu'um upon the foe, but it was for nothing. What was meant to be a Shout, a breath of frigid air to consume the assailant, came out as a gurgle, coughs and sputters as it began to choke on its own blood.

The assailant released another shout.

"_**TIID KLO UL!**_"

Time. Sand. Eternity.

Time itself stood so still around the white dragon, but in that stillness, the creature still felt pain… no, worse than pain. _Nax_. Cruelty. Each blow from the hooded mortal's weapons, each enchantment and glance of sharpened metal, was extended and amplified in volume and duration by the crawling stillness of time's flow. This creature, this… _Joor_, born to hunt dragons, was rending its flesh like it was mere cattle!

Finally, as the dragon began to feel time resume its normal flow… the pain ended, and the breather of frost knew no more.

Boots of dark leather, drenched with fresh blood of the recent kill, crunched the dead leaves and snow beneath their possessor. A thick, powerful tail, covered in scales of dark green, swayed to and fro from the killer's backside as she –the gear she wore did little to hide her athletic and lithe shape—approached the fallen dragon's corpse. A reptilian nose took a whiff of the blood's scent… just as the dragon's scales began to glow and sizzle, smoking from heat within the body. Then, every cubic centimeter of that dragon became alight with a golden fire, snow caught in the flames and gathering gale all melting away.

Scaled lips smirked as the Argonian woman felt the new energy, the dragon's very soul, flow into her body, licking her teeth as she felt the sheer taste of that spirit, To her, it was now like savoring wine, after these years in the frozen land of Skyrim. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes as her chest contracted and expanded rapidly, the adrenaline soon fading away. Satisfied with her kill, the black-leather-clad reptile holstered the beautiful black blade, soaked in the dragon's blood, into its scabbard, walking back down the rocky slopes. She was south-bound, on her way back to Riften… and to the Guild.

Tasha "Dances-In-Dark"—a nickname given, it was to be reflected with a twitch of bitterness, by a certain Dunmer comrade, even if it had not been of ill intent—Argonian Master of Thieves, lived to dominate and destroy… for that was the true nature of a dragon, and to dominate and destroy _them_ was proof of her role in life as Dovahkiin. Dragon. Hunter. Born. Not even the rule of "keeping one's blade clean" could change that about her. As much as Mercer Fray's dethronement from command had been to avenge a death and crime before her time, Tasha hated being slighted and betrayed, honestly enjoying simply killing Mercer for the sheer sake of her bloodlust, of revenge… and she had gladly declared herself no better than Mercer to his sneering, ugly, Breton face.

Then she had shot him during his "the die is cast" spiel. Right in his throat so he would only gurgle if he could even still move. Ah, that battle, just a couple months shy of a year's passing since, had filled her with a sense of pride and euphoria, greatly contrasting with her feelings from another kill earlier that same year.

Emperor Titus Mede II, what a noble man he was, and may he find peace in whatever afterlife waited him, Sithis be damned. Oh, sure, The Void was a major part of Argonian culture, sure as the Hist was, but Tasha was raised in Skyrim, where the Divines and Daedra were emphasized, Sovngarde, the Nord afterlife, even moreso.

And she had been there. This mere thief, her way of life akin to the military scouts of old, had been within the plane of Sovngarde and lived her birthright, delivering the killing blow to the World-Eater with a war axe of ebony, that pretty black spike on the end biting like a serpent's fangs into his neck.

… Wow, her mind was all over the place today, wasn't it? It was time to focus on where she was going, now that she had, in her musings, descended the slopes of this mountain near… Windhelm.

"… Ugh…" It was a city of openly hostile, racist Nords, no better than the Thalmor to her. Of course, there was Ulfric Stormcloak and Galmar Stone-Fist… Bah, she despised Ulfric on principle, in truth. Sure, if you were Nord or even Elf, you were welcome within Windhelm, but Argonians and Khajiit? The latter were permitted no entry and the former were slaves not even allowed within the city, isolated to the docks!

… So it was best to move on swiftly before Tasha did something that she would definitely not regret.

The reptilian woman held her index finger and her thumb to her mouth and whistled. After the echo of her whistling faded, silence died with the galloping of hooves, and from the shadows, the great mare of the Void arose, running until it was by Tasha's side. The Argonian sighed, reaching to gently pet the bloodthirsty creature's nose bridge, staring into her glowing red eyes with eyes of dark amber. "Let's ride, Shadowmere."

It would become a relatively swift, but still boring, trip back to Riften, across dirt and rock and grass. Truth be told, it had been about a week since she had been to her home, Honeyside, let alone visited the Guild that she was figurehead to. She allowed Karliah, Delvin, and Brynholf to take care of the real paperwork and monitoring the vault. It was kind of unfair, really, but they had appointed her to Guild Master and never brought up any paperwork to her. If they were to keep her in the dark, so be it.

The great lake's shores soon came into view, Shadowmere slowing to a trot upon the mud and dirt, letting the lake water splash upon her hooves. From upon the black horse's back, the Argonian woman stared ahead, examining the closing gap between herself and Riften, the most corrupt Hold capital in Skyrim.

Thieves, beggars, Stormcloaks with their racial supremacy disguised as pride and honor, and some of those very same "Children of Skyrim" being in the pocket of Maven Black-Briar, the real controlling party in Riften… oh, how she simultaneously loathed and loved this place. The corruption, as a thief, was to Tasha's advantage, but the fact that the corruption stemmed from those biased Nords made her blood boil.

The woman in dark leather soon came to a stop at the stables, quick to dismount Shadowmere and lead her into a normal resting place of hay. The infamous Hofgrir Horse-Crusher—he was one of the Nords she actually could stand, next to her guild-mates—was there at his usual spot, nodding to the Argonian in understood silence. Her mouth curved slightly into a smile, and she gave a small wave to the Nord man. Then she turned away from Hofgrir, walking to the doors.

Tasha put her scaled fingers to each door and slowly, almost dramatically, pushed the doors open to make her way in, entering the corrupt city of Riften. Her boots padded upon the cobblestone of the streets as she walked at a brisk, yet overall relaxed, pace. She took in the scent of lake water and fire salts as she approached the market square, her sharp orange eyes seeming to study those around her.

Hardly a thing changed in the lakeside city. Medesi was still running his stall, Brand Shei was out of prison and attending to his booth. Grelka was being… well, Grelka, the ill-tempered witch. It was, overall, a stagnant sight. Even Balimund was tending to the forge… no. No, she forgot… When those Thalmor tracked that damned old man to Riften, following her trail, Balimund had been a casualty. Asbjorn Fire-Tamer ran the forge now.

The Argonian woman released a somber sigh. That man, Nord or no Nord, had died because of her. Sure, the Thalmor had already been on their path to Riften, but she was the one whom had not minded the people around her when those Altmer attacked her in broad daylight. Even with the assistance of the Imperial Soldiers, those mages had fought hard.

She knew neither Esbern nor herself had struck Balimund, since the guards were ridiculously keen-eyed and didn't attack either of them in the midst of battle, just the Thalmor…

She had considered going on some righteous crusade, as ridiculous as that sounded, and exterminating every pompous Thalmor-aligned High Elf in Skyrim, but that would not do good for either the Brotherhood or the Guild, causing unnecessary attention… Temper, temper, Tasha… She had to keep it reigned in.

"Thane Tasha!"

The address of house rank snapped Tasha out of her walking musings, and she turned to the source of the voice… an approaching Riften Guard. "What is it?" she hacked out with that typical Argonian accent, slight hissing and a deeper, gravelly voice that those of Mer and Man. By the standards of her people, her voice was in itself quite deep, an alto tone. "Dragons?" That last part was thick with sarcasm.

"Maven Black-Briar sent me. She said you are required at the Bee and Barb." The tone was curt, ever so typical from Nord to non-Nord in Riften.

"…" The slim woman sighed; nodding slightly and watching the guard depart quickly. Maven Black-Briar… the name alone filled her with both dread and hope, in a strange mix. The corruption of Riften kept the city in both Maven's and the Guild's pockets, so she didn't have to worry as much here. What was the only real difference? Maven influenced a single Hold, and even then, a single city within it… the Guild influenced all the Holds with walled capitals, thanks to all those influential people. The only reason Maven wasn't dethroned was that it would be likely to send the wrong message to the other clients, whom in themselves were carriers of influence within their own Holds.

Still, what did that meddling shrew of a land-strider want now?

A mere minute later, after her brisk walk to the named inn and furthermore up the wooden stairs, she would receive her answer.

"So, let's just skip the pleasantries," the dark-haired Nord woman spoke with that tone of superiority Tasha loathed so much.

The Argonian woman sat at that table, across from Maven as she had done prior to the mead job in Whiterun. "Yes," she hissed, "Let's." Her scaly fingers tapped on the table in her agitation, elbow resting on the table. "What did you call me here for, Black-Briar? Like you, I'm a very busy woman and _hate_ my time being wasted."

The noblewoman was unaffected by the venomous tone of the Argonian. "I want you, or at least, a member of your Guild, to join the Imperial Legion."

Oh, Tasha was so glad she was not drinking one of Talen-Jei's special brews, because she was sure she would have spat it out all over the other woman in her sheer shock.

"… _What?!_"

"I did not stutter," Maven responded with a slight smirk, clearly proud to mentally disarm the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Slayer of Alduin, and Master of the Guild.

"You want me, the woman who slew Titus Mede II, the _fucking_ Emperor, or one of those under my command, to join the Imperial Legion?" Her words of disbelief were in a harsh whisper, but the implication of Maven's knowledge was clear. If you lived in Riften, Maven got information on you. "Has Sheogorath taken your mind, woman? That's like putting a rabbit in a den of serpents!"

"Or putting a dragon among rabbits, in your case," the dark-haired Nord snarked. "It's simple, Argonian. This war needs to end, and not all of the clients I have are Nords or within Skyrim's borders. You tried to cross the border and were almost executed, correct?"

"How do you—"

"My point is that I have bigger fish to deal with outside of Skyrim, and so long as the war is going on, my exports are at a massive risk of being ransacked by either Legion or Stormcloak forces at the borders. That aside, if, say, the current Jarl was removed from office…"

"I would lose my title," Tasha interrupted the 'hinting'.

"And I would be in position, as a trusted citizen, to become Jarl and make my operations public and completely legal," Maven resumed her explanation. "Just picture it: all my operations within the law, including your rabble, both The Thieves' Guild and the Dark Brotherhood. I'll even give your _precious_ title of Thane back to you."

"…" Tasha sighed and closed her eyes. "I will have to consult the Guild about this."

"Why? You're the Guild Master. They should hang on your every word. Just tell them this is how things will be."

"After Mercer's machinations, do you _really_ believe that my word is absolute?" Tasha scoffed at that, looking off toward the far wall. "No, we consult each other, Black-Briar. We're all greedy bastards, but we are allied and have to consult each other on jobs, or at least the top three or four of us do." She didn't even attempt to conceal the drawing of her Ebony Dagger, flipping it by the blade in her left hand idly while still staring at that wall of wooden planks. "The only way I'm doing this job is if they agree to it, and even then, I'm not going to risk any of their lives on a fool's errand so I can sit all comfy and cozy in Honeyside."

"So you'll take it yourself," Maven responded with the statement, her smirk growing.

"As if you expected differently," Tasha responded, turning back to look into Maven's dark eyes. Quite suddenly, the dagger in her hand was poised to Maven's throat, a mere hair's breadth away from drawing blood. "But know this, land-strider. Should we take this job, I will not be your pawn or take any of your orders with a grain of salt. I am Guild Master, and I do things by the Guild's ways, with one exception."

At the poised dagger, Maven had finally lost her sense of superiority, the smirk gone and her expression in a scowl and glare, but still keeping silent with the knife's edge literally so close to her neck.

Tasha's own amber eyes seemed to glow like the fires of Oblivion.

"If worse comes to worst, _dear_ Maven Black-Briar, I will _not_ be keeping my blade clean."

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**Author's Note:** So begins the story of Tasha "Dances-In-Dark", Argonian Dragonborn, and the end of the Skyrim Civil War.

Yes, it's In Medias Res with a bunch of dumped exposition, but I was hoping to establish certain things about my Dragonborn. Tasha is a Thief and an Assassin, and unlike some Draco in Leather Pants scenarios, she has no delusions of being a good person, or of her fellow guild-mates or Dark Brotherhood assassins being 'good' either. She's a thief and murderer by her own admittance, and while she does have some standards that keep her from being over the slippery slope, she is content with that, because she does not completely delude herself into thinking she's a paragon of justice. Truth be told, she'd probably never get along with the Companions on that principle, since they seek honor through battle, while she kills for either gold or survival, whatever suits her.

Also, Tasha, when she tried to cross the border and ended up in Helgen, was trying to leave Skyrim, though for what reason I cannot say… because I honestly have no clear reason in my mind. It could be because she was fed up with Guild life, going through a phase, or because a client/target was near the border. Leave that to imagination.

For that brief aside with the "Dances-in-Dark" nickname from a "Dunmer comrade", that was a reflection of bitterness that Argonians used to be a slave race to the Dark Elves. Out of place, sure, and I know it's telling instead of showing, but… let's just say Tasha was not happy joining the Dark Brotherhood, considering the actual leader is a Dunmer corpse with a fanatical worship of an entity of nothingness. She's not a Shadowscale by order or Star Sign, but she was not happy, even though now she's grown used to the life of death-dealing. As for why she just came out and exposed to Maven that she was the one who killed the Emperor… It's Maven Black-Briar. She has her sources of information, and Tasha is well aware that Maven likely already knew what she did.

Finally, one last note… As I could never stand Cicero, neither could Tasha, so… he's dead. You will never see him in this story, unless via flashback if his demise.


End file.
